Notre Dame
by Writer Awakened
Summary: FE8, postgame. The queen, Our Lady, sits on her throne, having lost something great and losing something greater.


Notre Dame

-

"_My heart yearns for you_

_as birds flock to fly home_

_as stars burn through empty skies_

_as wind blows through leaves of paradise_

_as chaos longs for serenity_

_as darkness looks for light"_

-Anonymous Renaisian poet

-

Three days after the scratching began, my liege Queen Eirika came to worry. The noises came sporadically at first, then at irregular intervals—though to the queen it seemed as though the noises were ever present. It can be said for the unfailing sound that the queen's state of mind anticipated—perhaps even welcomed—these noises, though whether or not she could at first understand the meaning of these noises is not for me to say.

I hate speaking of these things, these _memories_. I will not decieve by merit of sparing any details; I will speak of all that I know, and I'll tell it the best I can, which may be good or may be poor, I don't truly know. This is as much a closing of an antagonistic memory as it is an opening of a great and terrible story. I've come to hate telling stories. Still, whenever I am not suffering a story, I will try to live only in the future. The future, so it is said, holds much greater potential than does the past.

Our Lady had been crowned Reine Eiriké, _épée de la fleur, reine de restauration_ not three months before, basking wistfully in an all-too-simple ceremony. Beloved as Our Lady was, and for all the great deeds and great kindness she showed our mother country, it was inevitable that Renais would first and foremost mourn the passing of their true lord. To many—the majority, even!—, Queen Eirika's mere existence on the seat of the king debauched and defiled Good Prince Ephraim's name. It would have been absurd, the common folk rationalized, to laud the praise of a _woman_ king when, only two turns of the moon ago, the heir apparent had died so tragically and left their land barren and sad.

I do not know every detail about the circumstances of King Ephraim's demise. Needless to say, it was a tragedy begotten in a faraway land, and it was very, _very_ certain that his name would be remembered. On the contrary, he was our champion of virtue, and his spirit shall eternally make the Kingdom of Renais its home.

Some five days after Our Lady first reported the strange scratches, I made my morning rounds to the Queen's throne chamber, kneeling in her presence.

"My Lady," I said, head held low in reverence, my forehead touching my knee, my one hand on my head, the other bracing the ground. I knew that Our Lady disliked such idle displays of self-condescension and rigid homage and fully expected her to call me on it, but instead she merely said, "Rise, Father Rudolph", and nothing more until I rose.

The queen's soft brow was overtly thoughtful on that day to the point of being wrinkled; her opalescent turquoise hair and her benevolent countenance were perverted from their usual splendor, and in fact her hair was strewn everywhere unkindly and her eyes were weary and frightful. Her cheeks were a pale peach in tone, noticeably lacking the rouge which granted her face the elegance and distinction required of a queen. A purple lily, which had been nestled in her locks, seemed to threaten escape from its perch at the top of her head. Emblazoned on the queen's ornamental cuirass in gold was the fleur-de-lis, the flower-symbol of the royal family, borne gracefully on her bosom. Though the long-standing traditions of heraldry are and have always been prevalent here, the flower lily was worn only by one descended of royal blood, only by one worthy enough to bear it with grace. The last flower sat vulnerable on her throne, the strains of loneliness on her visage brutal for me to bear.

"Father Rudolph…" The queen said after a time, "I am glad you came here to-day to see me."

I smiled at her, my right hand crossing my heart over my gray-brown robes. "I come as I always do, My Lady. I would not abandon you."

"An abeyance of your honorable routine would have frightened me utterly," Queen Eirika said, and laughed a laugh far from the usual. "I daresay I have been a bit lonely lately. Father, do you remember those dreadful scratching noises I've told you about? They have been persisting and they are…they are beginning to frighten me. _Ma abbé_, please. Please consult with me on what these scratches might be."

"I do not know. You have said these noises come from behind your throne, My Lady?"

"Yes." The queen swallowed harshly. "I am afraid there is some…some evil spirit obscuring this chamber…perhaps even the entirety of Castle Renais. After the war, and the terrible catastrophe in Grado…I do not know. The last thing I would want is for these infernal scratches to be a portent of danger." Our Lady's eyes widened and she pursed her lips in nerves. "Maybe I am being a bit paranoid, but my people should not have to suffer further. They have suffered far, far too much."

How ironic it was, I thought later, that the people of Renais, for-ever livid at the Queen's presence on Her Throne, were protected and worried about by the very woman for whom they had so much spite. What rakes!

"I sympathize fully," I said then, bowing. "I shall return to my quarters and meditate. If I can sense any evil festering anywhere in this castle, I'll report to you forthwith, I swear on my honor." I turned to leave.

"Dear Father…thank you."

I turned back and smiled over at her. Strange, I was not nearly old enough to be her "father", and yet she saw one of her kin in my ignoble blood. Or perhaps I was called so merely because I am a bishop. I supposed that would be enough.

-

On returning to my chambers, I met Knight General Seth and stopped to speak with him in the wake of the setting orange sun. It peeped at us through the square window-holes in the walls, its light making do until the servants came to light the wall torches for the night.

"Sir Seth," I said upon seeing the red-haired _chevalier_. "Good eve to you, sir."

"Father Rudolph," he said. "I trust you are feeling all right to-day?"

"Perfectly healthy," I replied. "My eyes are brilliant like icy tips of diamonds, my appearance is impeccable in fashion and in timing; my hair is a vivid chestnut cluster and my skin hadst never better lustre."

Far be it from me to combat my nature; if I had not been so attuned to the voice of Saint Latona and the anointed spirits of the Commune, I would have undoubtedly been a foppish dandy in comical attire, spewing out such putrid rhymes as these on a regular basis; in best times, on the theatre stage, in worst times, in a back alley somewhere, having things thrown at me.

The knight general smiled slightly and I broke into a peal of healthy laughter, eventually goading him into indulging a laugh. General Seth, or so I assumed, seemed quite disengaged from the idea of enjoying himself.

"Still, I have something on a deeper note of which to speak," I said. "Queen Eirika has mentioned a strange scratching noise from behind her throne, presumably from behind the wall. Our Lady says that these scratches have persisted for some days now. She mentioned to me her fears that the noises may be due to some inclement spirit."

"I see," Seth said at length. "There are no hallways or rooms behind that throne, as Our Lady's chamber is at the far rear wall of the castle."

"I admit, I'm a bit at a loss. I have never been good at solving mysteries," I said.

"I wonder why Queen Eirika considered it wise to tell us after several days, and not immediately."

I shrugged. "Perhaps she did not consider it serious enough until three days passed."

"However the timing, if our queen warranted it serious enough to report it, we must treat this matter very seriously."

"Yes, yes, of course." I said, nodding. "Still, never once entering the throne room have I ever felt an evil presence. In fact, whenever I enter Our Lady's throne room, I feel warm and healthy inside."

"That is Queen Eirika's kind heart. She has such pure spiritual love and devotion to her people. She is Renais' aegis." Seth said. "Our Lady is a living testament to the pure ideals of faith and chastity."

"I have doubted neither her faith nor her chastity. However, as one who holds her best interests in the highest regards, I must say that I duly hope that she one day our queen will fall in love, be wed, and give birth to the _enfant de_ _l'épée de la fleur_—the light of the nation. What do you say?"

At this, the paladin reddened slightly while maintaining the stoicism I had come to expect from him; my mouth took a usual playful smile. I must admit, I am a glib, often sarcastic fellow—but I never lie. My words are as true as the devil is evil.

"Well, that all in good time, I suppose," said I, taking a serious note again. "I implore you, Sir Seth, please ensure Our Lady's health. And—stay at her side, if you can. The queen needs someone by her side, now and always."

"What that I would leave her, Father. My duty and my intent is to see her happy," Seth said, rather curtly. He folded his hands behind his back, his shoulders held high and rigid above his chest.

"See her happy. Well said." I smiled. "This entire affair has disturbed her gentle, fragile mind beyond description. The incident in Grado leading to the prince's demise…the entirety of the Second War…with all that has come to pass, it would not be beyond reason to think Our Lady's mind may be stretched to the boundaries of its tolerance."

Seth's brow furrowed, his head turned in such a way as to suggest he was waiting for an explanation. "Are you trying to say something?"

"No, nothing," I said, shaking my head. To further assail the queen's retainer with my opinions of the queen's state of mind was unnecessary—furthermore, I had been assaulted with a feeling that perhaps the knight general was not as fond of me as he purported.

Meanwhile, the general bowed at me shallowly and begged his leave, citing important business.

"You are a good man and a knight of unequaled honor, Sir Seth," I said, but internally I dialogued with myself, asking if a mere bishop could truly be taken serious in complimenting one's knighthood. "In your skills, in your manners, and in your devotion, you are most the nonpareil. One day you will tell your children a fine bedtime tale of your deeds."

"One can only hope," he said, and with little fanfare he turned and walked away.

-

I retired to my chambers solemn on that day. What pained me most about seeing my sovereign lady on her throne was the strength with which she poised herself. Our Lady held herself with untold grace, ever feeling it appropriate to conceal her fears from those who she wished to inspire. She breathed life into the tired, the sickly, the weak, and the hungry. She freely walked the streets of the city with her retainers, defying any ill-wishers, any assassins, daring any enemies of the Monarchy to pull the last petal from her royal flower.

The people should have adored her. I truly believe that they _would_ have adored her unquestionably, infallibly, without hesitance or remorse, except she took the place of their man-lord, their rightful King and Sovereign Liege, and _oh!_ what a benevolent ruler he would have made, how they would have lauded him and extolled his myriad virtues. Ephraim was the blazing, raging emblem of Renais. He was their sun, their earth, and their moon.

The underprivileged—that is to say, the common man having no power of which to speak—admired the young prince for his power, for his daring, and mostly for his recklessness, in which they believed so thoroughly. It was little secret that Ephraim was hotheaded. But this flaw in his being humanized him to these people, these poor folk who had been so horribly, _horribly_ oppressed by the _terrible_ tyrannical royalty. The prince's humanity gave these people reason to believe they had both the strength and the right to do whatever they wished, though fortunately they had neither the courage nor the will.

The prince—Ephraim—he was adored by all. The bourgeoisie adored the prince. The shop-keeps, the connoisseurs, even the scrabbling peasants who—by whatever means necessary, Latona bless their hearts!— acquired money adored the prince. The entire middle-class adored the prince for ensuring their medial integrity as better than the worst, worse than the best. Prince Ephraim ensured the wealthy noble braggarts never directed the ebbs and flows of gold through the fattened fingers of the rich and the complacent. It was by Ephraim's _infinite_ well of resourcefulness, his sister's saintly motherliness, and his father's will and level-headedness that the people of Renais were freed from having to endure foreign mercenaries tramping about the mother soil. Their defenders, they were assured, were to be paid _only_ in honor's wages. And his fairness in trade and in facilitating trade of goods with foreign nations was an obvious point of adoration.

Above all, the Privileged of Castle Renais adored the heir apparent, even those pompous aristocrats who so fervently opposed Ephraim's devotions to the common people. No amount of wealth, women and wine could buy protection, they realized—perhaps the only honest, logical realization any of them ever came to—, and it was no secret that the most Mephistophelean _horreur_ of all was the uncertain finality of death. Their _noblesse oblige_ stemmed solely from the fact that the heir apparent Lord Ephraim watched their backs and kept their fortunes save from robbers and rogues, as the nobles were too fat and lazy to watch it themselves. They were thankful for this, at least. Their lockets, their statuettes of the guardian patron saint Latona, after all, were merely ornaments to them.

I? I reserved my judgement on the matter of the young prince. It was his tragic death, at last, that drew out my latent sympathies for the poor fellow. I call him poor because, for all that he had and all that he gave, he always wanted something infinitely precious in return, something he never, ever attained. Or perhaps there was more to it than just that, and if so being, then maybe I was never meant to know at all.

My sleeping-chambers were nearly bare, furnished only with the utmost necessities and my accoutrements. I sat cross-legged on my cot, my hands upon my head, my fingers overlapping and nearly interlaced with one another. My eyes shut, I meditated and prayed; if there was evil in this place I would find it. I communed with the beyond with my eyes such, trying to see, though perhaps it would be more accurate to say this prayer-trance is a method of _feeling_. Not with my hands. With my _soul_. I sat on the bed for what seemed like eternity, craning my mind's eye to see the perceptions I felt brushing against my skin and entering my body.

In memory, the sensations and the remembrances are weak; quite poorly it can be described as a feeling of connection—a feeling of unity beyond that of human senses. I was suspended listlessly in nothingness, and yet I was surrounded by everything. I felt the hands and fingers of times past brush against my skull and bless me with their ancestral sight. I wanted to see with my inner eye the bad circumstance turned upon my liege, and I wanted to banish that circumstance from this world—from all worlds—for-evermore.

The heart of the Commune was a pure, chaste whiteness, a sanctuary deep in Latona's bosom where the hearts, souls, and minds of the fallen gather to rest. Mere words and cantos from ancient scriptures could not describe this place—'_amidst witness of the souls of thy fallen ancestors, thou toucheth Latona and be touch'd by Her infinity'_. Ancestors spoke to me and I listened, often not hearing but merely acknowledging and understanding. This—this—this _place_, this _sanctuary_ was a calm to quell all anger, a panacea to cure all ails, a balm to soothe all wounds, a smile for every melancholy, a love for every hate. This, I reasoned, was the one thing…the one thing any human being searches for, longs for, kills for, dies for. I honestly believe it to be a sneak glimpse into heaven.

I searched diligently for answers in this place, searched for solace. I searched for any scant traces of ill will I could wrap my mind around, my inner eye craning to find any acknowledgement of my coming. Communing with the spirits was a trance, whereupon I submitted every illusion of physical control but in return was granted the gift of sensing auras, sensing intents, and sensing magic around me. I searched for any malfeasance or perversion of nature, and for the first time in my life—now mid-life—, I was chagrined to find nothing of the sort. No evil spirit, no haunt, no poltergeist or phantasm, no corruption and no perverse will.

The Commune was a mystic place, and though I had came here many times before, always by invitation, and always with glorious welcome, and had seen things no human should be worthy of seeing. This was the place I always wanted to go whenever I dreamt, and how I _longed_ for this place every morn when I awoke, covered in the devil's sweat, haunted by the evil-possessed, harrowed face of the morning, who told me I was back to the real world and there was no turning away. There was no evil, could be no evil in Latona's saintly Commune, and I so hungrily desired this place because—what a selfish fool I am!—it provided me the one thing I never had: love.

There was no evil here. There was no evil in this castle, this wellspring of purity. Yet, _he_ was here. I felt Ephraim's spirit strongly here, watching over us, watching over the castle with a trained eye. I felt the spirit of the lance-arm, and more strongly, the spirit of the sword-arm with which he trained his sister in the arts of war. Furthermore, I could feel the departed prince reaching out, reaching out with his empty arm, reaching out with his hand to touch his sister's velvet cheek as he had done oft before. I was as certain of this as I was of anything in my life. The prince was sad, sorrowful. She—Queen Eirika could she not see this, could not _feel_ this? Was she looking?, I wondered. Wasn't she longing for this very thing, the unadulterated love of her brother? And yet, for whatever reason, did she not feel his presence reaching for her?

I took a moment in the Commune to acknowledge and to pray for Ephraim's fallen retainer, Kyle of the Stout Guard. It was Sir Kyle who accompanied the prince into disaster-rent lands, it was Sir Kyle who swore unbreakable fealty to his lord and his lady, and it was Sir Kyle who, in the frantic mourning of Ephraim's passing, had been forgotten in the prince's shadow.

-

"My Lady."

"Rise, Father Rudolph," Queen Eirika said, and I rose. It evoked something in me I cannot describe, seeing her face at that moment. It was gaunt, subtly frightened, exhausted, and beautiful.

"I trust you are well, My Lady?"

"I am well, thank you. I am a bit tired, but—"

"Shall I call for General Seth to escort you to your quarters, My Lady?" I said, seizing an opportunity to see her well. Her eyes—her eyes. She needed a respite.

"No. I may see myself to my chambers. Seth needn't be disturbed from his evening duties."

"Then, shall I see you to your quarters myself?"

"Father Rudolph?"

I stopped. Her eyes searched me for intent, as if her fatigue would allow her to see such things. My intent was to see her to her chambers, as I could not in good conscience allow her to greet her quarters alone.

"My Lady," I said. "Please allow me the honor of accompanying you through the cold night halls to your royal quarters." I bowed deeply to her, my body nearly perpendicular to my legs. When I rose, the queen stood before me, her hair an aquamarine tempest framing the halls of her face. Around her eyes were ringed light circles of black and gray; they were stock make-up as if from a trite play about a sleepless lover in a sleepy hamlet.

I held out one robed arm to catch her arm; to wit, she had already extended her arm out for mine, and I merely caught it in mid-stride. Her left hand, which I took in my right, was cold but soft, and as we walked along slowly through the halls, I squeezed her chill hand tighter in my hand, less to warm hers than to warm mine.

"Thank you for seeing me to my quarters," the queen said. We turned a corner, down a cold hall inhabited by only a chill night breeze and two rows of glass-covered wall-torches. "I know the extent of your concern for me, Father."

_You couldn't_, I remember thinking. _You couldn't know how concerned for your well-being I am. _"You are always in my prayers, My Lady. Whenever I reach out and feel the spirits of Latona's Commune, I always wish for your good health and happiness."

"Thank you, Father. But regardless of my personal feelings, I will love and lead Renais until I am unable to do so."

"Let us pray that time never comes," I said. The next hall we traveled was slightly less breezy, slightly less cold.

"Would you? Would you pray for me again? I cannot hope to monopolize your prayers, Father Rudolph." Eirika stopped and looked up into my eyes. I shuddered, as if by reflex, and looked down at her as she grasped at the free sleeve of my robe with her free hand. For a moment, I could say nothing, and I was paralyzed in the window's keen moonlight by an inexplicable fright. My heart gnawed at me with its teething skin and I was sure a spectre had descended over me for a moment, as the hairs on the nape of my neck stood on end and the foreboding hit me over the head like the spine of a tome. Why? Why was I so afraid for my queen? What was going to happen to her? I wondered if this feeling was just my imagination, a haunt, or an omen.

"I-I am sorry," I said finally, releasing her hands. "I was—thinking of other things."

"Are you alright, Father?"

"Yes, My Lady. Please, do not waste your concern on me. I should be escorting you to your chambers, nothing more."

"Father," my queen said as we neared her chamber, "I hope you do not mind me asking such a personal question, but I have been pondering this for some time. Before you became a bishop of Latona, what role were you playing? Whence did you come?"

"Before I joined the clergy," I said, recollecting. It took me a moment to think. "Before I joined the ranks of Latona's faithful, I was…no one. I was born a product of the freethinker's age, a member of the 'subtle revolutionaries', in a big town with small dreams, firmly established as the third son of a merchant father, strictly in the middle-class. I had little interest in the Renaisian history or rote arithmetic my father taught his children; rather, I reveled in the notion that through the learning of politics and theatre I could be a firebrand to encourage the poor and the underprivileged into political action. And it is funny, My Lady, that you should mention roles," I added, looking into her interested eyes as he walked along, "since before I was born I believed my place was on the stage playing a master of fop and tomfoolery, the darling of a new generation. Then again, maybe not."

"I see…and what brought you to the service of Latona?"

I turned my head away and saw a panorama of the moonlit countryside through the square holes in the castle's walls. Idly turning my eyes over, I glimpsed the rolling green hills buck one after another like ornery horses, saddled by the ethereal silver light of the moon cresting at the tips of each. In the distance, the tips of mountains and peaks were kissed by the moon, and in the distance, another part of the great castle city cloaked itself in a silhouette of silvers and grays that sheltered the spires and ramparts like small giants hunched over. I did not know why, but tears began flowing down my face suddenly and it was minutes of standing still in the moon-shadow with the queen looking on in sympathy before I composed myself. Luckily for my reputation, I was never known as being overtly concerned with stoicism. I silently urged milady to continue walking alongside me.

"Forgive me, dear queen." I said at last. "This moon brings out the best and worst in my heart."

"I…I am sorry."

I smiled, having already regained my composure. "Please don't condescend yourself by apologizing to me. You didn't do anything wrong. If anything, I should apologize for being such a garrulous buffoon." I chuckled, then took a different quill to write my next lines.

"As to your question: As a young man I never believed in Latona's teachings or in the idea of a Commune. Perhaps that is why I can sympathize with those who choose to disbelieve in Her ideals. My heart was empty; my heart was unfulfilled like a pale flower of darkness, a droll peddler aboard a pirate ship sailing through blinding light. I was lost to the world, and I was lost to myself. I was angry at the world, angry at principles and conventions, angry at the misdeeds being perpetrated in this world, angry at the controllers of the wealth for bolstering their own wretched corpulence and serving only themselves, and angry at myself for being able to do nothing to change them. My parents had little interest in seeing me happy, only in seeing me healthy enough to live and intelligent enough to earn a keep. I was too unwise and young then; I didn't know enough to laugh away my frustrations, to maintain the balance between happiness and sadness, seriousness and humor. I was powerless. Looking back, I am utterly ashamed of who I was then. The only thing I've left over from those ignominious days is my fabulous head of hair."

I ran my hands through my hair and bowed facetiously. The wit only was in recent years—but perhaps the cynicism had always been. The queen laughed quietly at my antics, and I walked her forward with my hand at a slow pace, wondering whether I could—or should—finish my tale before we reached the door to her room.

"Then one rainy night—I believe I was nearly twenty then—, an elderly missionary came to the door of our house and collapsed, gaunt and stricken with malnutrition and fever. My family and I offered him food and shelter, and when he recovered, we learned that he was a traveling priest recently excised from his position as chaplain serving in a Grado prison. His childhood dream, it seemed, was to travel here to Renais, but upon arriving, he had no food, no water, no home. In the time he spent with us, I learned about Latona and her teachings, and the missionary taught me how to meditate and how to focus my heart's inner force. He left shortly after, but I have never forgotten his lessons. I believe he joined the servants of Latona here in Renais Castle until he died several years ago. Perhaps you knew him? He was called Father Anthony. I know his words comforted me when my parents joined the Commune."

"I—the name does not sound familiar," Eirika said. "Perhaps my father knew him."

"I am sure. Hm. That must have been fifteen years ago now..." I rustled through the pockets of my robe and withdrew a pendant of sapphire and ruby threaded on a silver chain. The chain had lost its lustre, but in the moonlight, it shone again. I slipped the chain over my head and let it hang loose around my neck. It was a blatantly theatric piece of jewelry, a trinket appropriate for a comic-sophisticate or a dandy gentleman. Despite my priestly garb, I reckoned the pendant fit me quite nicely—me, the quintessential fool in sheep's clothing.

"This was a gift to me from long ago," I said off-handedly. I didn't know what I wished to say or what I wished to hear in return, only that I wished to speak and that I wished to be heard. "A gift from a young lady with whom I was involved romantically for quite some time, long before I joined the clergy. She gave me this trinket because she believed it to suit me well, the perfect supplement to my devil-care-not character. Then one day, for seemingly no reason, she went mad, fell into delusions and came into ill humors."

My voice carried on breathlessly, like a spinning wheel spinning in place, or like a knight-errant breaking a lance against a windmill. I held my head low, trying to forget about whom I was keeping company, as it was _far_ from appropriate to speak so cavalierly and openly to a queen. Before I knew it, my innocuous anecdote had become a confession.

"The last time I saw her she was at the base of the greatest crag of our mountainside village after the most grandiose performance of her life. The gravediggers were out of their houses before sundown, and it struck me beyond comprehension the juxtaposition between these burly men basking in the squalor of death and coin and _her_—she who had made a living off beauty and chastity and avoiding disdainful and unpleasant things. In fact, the very reason I loved her so was her purity, her innocence and her beauty. I always deplored the sordid side of reality, you see. She died angry—half in delusion, half in truth—at all the times I wronged her out of my own petty emotions and was too foolish and too proud to admit I was at fault. She died without my ever once telling her I loved her, simply because I believed that saying such a thing was unnecessary when in retrospect, it was the one thing she surely longed to hear from me but never did.

"You can't know how strongly I wanted to see her face, hear her voice in the Commune so that I could see her one last time. I tried: That is why I tried. I could not, though. I came to understand, eventually that I could only ease the pain of others in the hopes that one day, another one would ease mine."

For a time, there was nothing but silence as I waited for my hands to stop shaking and for my breath to return. My Lady stood immobile, at a loss for words. Even so, I could feel her spirit weeping for me, and I could only think of what a detestable human being I once was—and what a detestable human being I was at that moment, allowing a pure soul to weep over _my_ pain. Nonetheless, I felt a great burden lift from my heart, much like the world being lifted off the shoulders of a titan.

"And now, My Lady, we are at your chambers. I would keep you longer, but I am sure you are already utterly bored of my company." I smiled playfully, and she smiled back, albeit slightly.

We stood in the wake of the window's moonlight, shining certainty against the great chamber door opposite. I clasped my hands together in a prayer of egression, and I wished her well as sincerely as I possibly could have.

"I hope to-morrow will be a bright day, for you and for us all," the queen said, aware of her surroundings again. She pressed her hand gently against the door to her room.

"To-morrow always comes, and I am as certain of its brightness as I am of its coming."

Suddenly, Queen Eirika gasped, pricked her ears and craned her neck slightly to look in every direction, including behind her at the door to her sleeping-quarters. Her eyes loomed wide and moon-struck, and it looked to me as if every muscle of her body was tensed with the same poise and stature she took on the battlefield. I could imagine her silver rapier in her hands, warding off any evil presence. "Did you…did you hear that?"

"Hear…what, My Lady?" said I, and my heart sank in my chest. The scratches again? My body tensed, and I tried to ascertain their existence and their whereabouts to no avail. But why? Why could I, evil's antagonist, not hear them?

"No…no, it is nothing," she said. "I thought…no, no, nothing. Good-night, Father. Thank you for accompanying me," Then, unbelievably, she bowed incredibly deeply to me, a restrained smile upon her face. I was so stunned at her gesture that I forgot to bow in return as she slipped away. That night, before I retired to bed, I sat on the edge of my cot and cried silently, and the second torrent of tears was as unexpected as the first.

-

The following day passed by without event. That evening, Our Lady the queen invited a small number of trusted confidantes to dine with her in the royal dining quarters, with the justification being that she was wholly tired of dining alone.

On that night, I came to her quarters dressed in my formal holy raiment. Despite the occasion insisting on it, I had little interest in masquerading my true self in the skin of a high-class gentleman, swathed in lavish clothing and embossed with surfeits of silver. At the time, I had believed it to be Latona's teachings steering me towards relinquishing all material desires, but perhaps it was I who steered myself down such a road. After all, knowing who I once was, how could I wish to be anyone else? Still, I came to Our Lady's quiet quarters dressed in my formal clothing, my jet black robe cuffed by pure white, my black undershirt drawn tight to my neck and collared in a ring of white and silver trim, with a silver pendant bearing the three wings of Latona's Archangel. Seeing me dressed as I was, I sincerely prayed that my lady Eirika and her guests would see through these necessary pretenses to the core of my being, the fabric of my intent that no cloth could mask. Perhaps my face that night could not reflect the fright and concern I felt for my lady liege.

The royal dining quarters were much like its sovereign custodian that night: dimly lit in the wake of several wall-mounted and table-perched candelabra, quiet and reserved in tones of subdued gray and gold, and uneasy, a shadowed chamber caught in-between light and darkness. The dining quarters were quite large, however, unlike the petite queen, and while the room was impeccably orderly, Our Lady herself seemed unusually disarrayed. The queen's hair was disheveled and running rampant across her face, her culotte-skirt was wrinkled uncharacteristically, and her satin under-shirt protruded from the neck of her cuirass, as though it had been put on hastily or without care.

Our Lady and her guests each took seats at the grand dining table; the queen at the head, I to her left opposite General Seth. To my left sat Knight Commander Forde, a man whom I hadn't seen in quite some time. Commander Forde wore his blond hair loose down the back of his neck, and he dressed in a simple black tunic, neither informal nor flashy. To think of it, I hadn't seen Sir Forde for quite a while—despite assuming the position of commander, he had begun to keep his own company increasingly often, only appearing to serve his knightly duties. Across from him sat the final guest of the mixed company, a wealthy blacksmith by the name of Marton. Popular voices stated that Marton and his various 'distributed smithies' forged the Knight's of Renais' arms and armours in exchange for concessions of various sorts.

I chose to believe the smiths were compensated monetarily and nothing more; whatever the circumstances, the man sat at the table dressed in a painfully bourgeois green doublet with frills at the cuffs and neck, over which was draped a great brown velvet coat significant enough to house the armory of Renais in its girth. His face was consumed by a full chestnut moustache, which, like his matted head of hair, looked as if it had crawled out of the swamp pits and promptly been assailed by the plague. Admittedly, it did make him look wealthy. The man glanced around the table furtively, waiting for the hostess to declare her intent to commence conversation and begin the meal.

The queen rose from her seat after finishing what I could only assume was a prayer. Her face was pale and tired in the candlelight, and she didn't rise before speaking, but her voice carried the usual nourishing motherly authority that was her birthright. Perhaps her voice was even more authoritative that night; she looked sickly, she looked weak but she sounded _powerful_.

"My friends," she said, putting her arms out as if to embrace, "thank you all for joining me here. I have become increasingly concerned that I am spending too much time alone, sequestered from the people of the castle—_my_ people—and I believe I shall attempt to right that wrong. I do not wish to be alone to-night."

"I would not abandon you, My Lady," Seth said, crossing his hand over his heart. "I live to serve and to please you."

"I second that sentiment, my queen." Forde sat forward in his chair. "A duty of a knight of Renais is to give his time and life to his liege. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Forde…" Eirika whispered. Her aura was briefly lowered. She spoke methodically and with care. "I'm sorry about…Sir Kyle. I know he was a—a good friend to you."

"What's done is done. I would have done the same in his position: died in service to my lord. Anyway, there's nothing to be done, and hey, the future will be bright, right?" Forde smiled. It looked to me as if he was forcing himself; he returned to his blank, wistful stare shortly afterwards. I don't recall him smiling again that night.

The queen asked me to say a brief prayer to Latona giving thanks for our meal, and I did so (_Dearest Latona, we thank you for giving us hope to live, strength to forage for our meal, wisdom to remember the sacrifices of our harvest, and we thank you for giving us strength to find ourselves on our own_).

We ate in silence for a time, until Our Lady called for another glass of her wine. I remember the food being delicious beyond description, but I ate very little. I spent the majority of the time watching the queen douse herself in glasses of wine and summon the servant for more. Her plate was nearly untouched, as was mine.

"There is something about which I wished to inquire of you, Father Rudolph," Queen Eirika said, turning to view me. "Being a learned bishop of Latona, perhaps you can tell me what the three wings on your pendant signify. I regret to say that I…well, I never really knew exactly what they meant."

"Ah—with pleasure." I held the small silver amulet in my hand and pressed it towards the nearest candle. Two of the pendant's wings faced right and the other faced left. "These are the wings of Latona's Archangel, the chaste maiden ascended into an angel's mantle, the angel Athena, patron saint of the underprivileged, wife of the lunar seraph Alex, and mother of the three childe angels."

"I thought disciples of Saint Latona were to practice strict sexual abstinence as part of their 'chastity'. Three children, then?" Marton said, gnashing at his food.

I had to laugh, and I smiled. "A common misconception. Lovemaking in the realm of _love_—rather than base lust—is perfectly acceptable. And, I might add, a common practice amongst those who preach the Saint's words. Tell me, where would our children come from otherwise? In the words of the Saint herself, 'chastity' is simply defined as restraint from sin and evildoing. She sees no sense denying the world of something so great. She simply desires _balance_. Latona said nothing about not enjoying yourself."

"I could live with that." The merchant smiled, and we all shared a free laugh.

"As for the wings," I continued, "They represent the three truths of the Archangel Athena, and therefore Latona herself. Notice the perfect balance and the perfect spacing between the wings. The two wings facing the same direction symbolize 'love' and 'equality', respectively. The wing facing the other direction, fittingly, symbolizes independence: Independence from evil's control, and independence to live your life by your own morals and your own choices without being a servant to Latona's will. The Saint speaks of Herself never as a judge, always as a guide. 'Thou shalt not _submit_ thyself to me,' says she."

Marton stroked the insalubrious piece of absurdity plastered above his lip with his hand, curling it up into outrageous spirals of brown. It was a rat. A rat curled up on his face! "Latona seems a bit more reasonable than some of Her more unreasonable worshippers would lead you to assume."

I looked over at the blacksmith, then at Queen Eirika. "The Saint is kind," I said plainly. I wondered who the blacksmith's sly little comment was directed toward, before eventually convincing myself that there was some other disagreeable holy person in his life. "Also, take note," I continued. "The amulet is crafted of silver, said to be a pure metal and a ward against evil and suffering."

"I see," Eirika said at last, bowing her head and drinking heartily from her glass of wine. "Thank you for enlightening us, Father Rudolph."

After a time, the merchant Marton spoke again. He had eaten well, it seemed. "I must thank you, Queen Eirika, for inviting me to your feast." He looked over at the queen, the candlelight seething and overfilling from his narrowed eyes. "This is a meal beyond compare. I have never eaten so well, and I have exhausted much of my fortune seeking the perfect meal."

The comment surprised me. Far from being corpulent and gluttonous, as one would expect of an eating-sort (noting his obese, burly jacket), the merchant was surprisingly tall and thin with arms like muscled branches of oaks. His lanky frame folded neatly into his chair, and he sat with his shoulders hunched slightly upwards, giving the appearance of a black cat hissing, his eyes still glowing with flame. He looked as if he could spring from his chair and pounce at any second, baring fangs and spitting acid. On that strange, uncertain night, the lithe merchant fellow frightened me immensely. I tried to avoid eye contact with him whenever possible.

"I thank you for your graciousness," the queen said. The serving-man, a fellow dressed in black, appeared next to Eirika. "Another glass of rose wine," she said, and the servant scurried away.

"I must also commend you on the state of the castle," Marton continued, stroking his moustache at length, and at last he grinned. "Despite all the tragedies that have befallen the kingdom, the aristocracy and the royal heiress seem to be quite well off. My condolences on the loss of your prince, my queen."

Queen Eirika bit her lip and thanked the merchant. She received her glass of wine, downed it with inordinate speed, and hastily called for another. The candles hissed and a chime sounded, far off in the distance. General Seth looked over at his queen, and Commander Forde looked at his general.

"My Lady, please pace yourself," Seth said. His voice was absolute, but he could not conceal his concern. He had been worried for her health, just as I was. For reasons I could never understand, that angered me, and brought a subtle scowl to my face on a platter of rusted silver and bronze. I prayed to Latona for comfort. "You mustn't drink too much."

"I believe I have every right to do as I please," she said. She received another glass, and drank again, finishing quickly and calling for another. Her speech was beginning to slur. "If I wish to indulge in a glass of wine, I shall. I do not believe—believe my kingdom will suffer much from my drinking. Who are you to say who I am, what I do?"

"Ah…yes, very well. Forgive me," Seth said, much like a man traipsing to the gallows, and he bowed his head.

"Don't bend your knee and grovel to me like a—a sniveling dog!" Eirika snapped. She snatched the next glass of wine from the servant's hands and took a healthy draught, gasping for breath as she finished. "I am not one to whom you may condescend!"

Seth's head remained down; if he had looked up, he would have perhaps been startled to see the sudden rage flicker in the queen's eyes. My heart skipped a beat.

"I have the right to do whatever I wish here, even if no one in this bloody nation understands." she continued on, waving her glass in her hand. "I am the queen, I am the-"

"My queen, how many glasses of wine have you consumed?" Forde asked, staring at her intently.

"Quiet!" the queen hissed. Her head darted energetically to and fro. "Listen! Hearken! Shh, hush hush, and listen! If this is my will, then this is my will. Is my will not absolute?"

General Seth nibbled at his lip. "Yes, but-"

"Silence! Then I may do as I please, don't—don't disobey. Servant! And servant! Another glass of rose wine!" The servant hurried to do her bidding.

"Perhaps I have came at an ill-opportune time," Marton said, sipping from his own glass. I turned to look at him and he was sneering ever so slightly. "You seem troubled tonight. Perhaps, then, I should leave before anything unfortunate were to befall our company."

Eirika looked over at Marton, squinting to see through the candlelight the blacksmith's face. "'Unfortunate'!" she scoffed. "There are no unfortunate circumstances here in my castle! Is this not my place of control?" She rose her hand in the air, palm toward her guests. "This is my domain! Have I not been a good ruler? Have I not ruled with compassion, with power? Have I not tried to soothe the peerless rage festering in bestial man's soul? Have I n-"

The queen stopped mid-sentence, thrust herself backwards, and looked around the room. Her eyes were wide and glistened as diamonds do, her ears pricked themselves and searched around the room for audible input, her face stiffened like the facade of a rock wall. Her hands were outstretched weakly and her arms trembled, sending tremors through her shoulders, through her chest, and through her legs. Her face paled to the color of baking flour. The two knights' hands instinctively braced the table in preparation to rise, their eyes skillfully trained to the queen. I sat paralyzed with horror.

It was the wine, I was certain; the wine was causing this bout of—whatever this temporary affliction was. I said a brief prayer to Latona to spare My Lady this pain, to deliver her from the grips of this episode, and then—

"Ephraim!" she screamed, and her voice was possessed with blankness. "Ephraim!" and this time there was panic lacing her voice. Seth and Forde rose to their feet, the color disappeared from their faces in suit with their liege's.

"My Lady!"

"My queen!"

"Ephraim!" she yelled again, her voice becoming desperate and longing. She looked past the candlelight into the darkest recess of the dining-quarters, her eyes straining to see nothing. "Ephraim! Come out! Show yourself! I command you! I am queen, and I command you! Have I not- Have I not- Brother, I-"

"I apologize, Father Rudolph, Sir Marton," Seth said hastily. "Our Lady is quite unwell. She has been under a great deal of stress recently due to certain unavoidable circumstances."

"That can be readily seen," the blacksmith said, rising to his feet as the queen fell into her seat, still quivering madly. "Circumstances, however they may arise, are quite irritating, are they not?" Marton bowed to the queen and her retainers and noted my presence with a nod. He smiled, mainly at the corners of his lips.

"These _circumstances_ have been the bane of many a decent man. My advice to you honored gentlemen: Ask your kind Father to lead you in prayer. One can hope that the humbled Saint can lead you through times of turmoil and-" his tongue lingered on the final word- "_temptation_." With another quick bow, he left the room, as though he was never there.

"My Lady," Seth said, approaching the chair where the queen sat, still watching the many faces of nothingness pass her by. "You need rest, please. I will see you to your sleeping-quarters."

"Yes, yes," Queen Eirika said, rising to her feet. "But unhand me, I can walk on- on my-" The queen stumbled, lurched forward, and General Seth caught her in his arms as her body collapsed upon him. She hiccuped. "Yes, a night of sleep. I'm sorry. Yes, yes, I need a night's respite. I can feel—oh, I can feel. There is something here, something here tonight."

"My Lady, what is it?" I asked."

Queen Eirika hiccuped. It is—it is—something terrible. A mur…"

Seth and I looked upon her quizzically, and I said, "Mur…?"

"A murderer. A murderer…is likely loose in my domain."

"Please, calm yourself," Seth said. "You are not well. You need to sleep for the night."

"Night, o night," said Our Lady. Seth led her along, supported on his broad shoulder. Then, in a carefree falsetto, Eirika crooned, "Sleep, o _sleeeeeeeeep_!"

I looked on as the queen walked away, flanked by Seth and Forde supporting her, and I rose to my feet, dizzied by the notion that I was helpless. The queen shot quick, wine-fevered glances at me, her eyes rich with fatigue and horror, and she mouthed the small word 'scratching' to me from across the room. Her delicate pink lips, independent of her eyes, were turned upwards in a sick comic grin. I wanted so badly to come to her aid, but there was nothing I could do, no benedictions I could recite, no laying on of hands I could perform to help her. This was more than a wine-induced string of delusions, I was certain. This was an evil against which I had no weapon, an evil against which I—a priest! a _priest_!—was powerless.

I laughed bitterly as I left the chamber to retire; ironically, the meal had been a bit dry, and would have been unquestionably better had I taken some wine.

-

I awoke from a light sleep about mid-night when a powerful hand rapped against the door to my bedroom. I rose from my bed, still in my sleeping robes, and was about to open my door when it burst open and framed my room in a crest of bright light. Knight Commander Forde stood in the doorway, out of breath as a wild commotion rang in the hall behind him.

"Sir Forde!" I exclaimed. "What is-"

"Father, we need your presence," Forde said. His hair was disheveled and his face was sallow.

I rubbed the remnants of sleep from my eyes. "Yes, of course. Let me change into my-"

"No, come as you are. Don't worry about appearances. We need your guidance."

"Yes, of course," I said, and I retrieved my three-winged pendant from my bedside dresser. I turned, expecting to see Forde in the doorway, but instead he was gone, leaving only a call of "don't tarry" behind him. I followed him quickly down the hallway.

The corridors were dim but for the torchlight and the pale radiance of the moon, yet there was light enough to see the path of my trundling feet as I ran through. I could hear heavy footsteps ahead of me, and followed them until the halls opened into a larger corridor where many people gathered in a circle, looking in towards the center. Outside the ring, Forde and General Seth stood, talking.

"I'm here," I said, walking over quickly to where they stood. "What—what happened?"

"A man has been slain," Seth said. He jerked his head in the direction of the circle.

Without a second word, I pushed my way into the circle and saw the body of said man. It was nobody I knew—by his armor he appeared to be a common foot soldier—but seeing his corpse contorted sent chills traipsing through my spine, prickling like thorns through my muscles and my bones. What my queen had said…'a murderer', she had said! The dead man's legs were folded under his body and his arms were splayed out helplessly at his side. A large steel lance gutted him nearly through the small of his back, and there were numerous examples of sword wounds possessing his arms and lower back. I stood over his body and said a quick rite to Latona, imploring the Saint to give this man shelter in her world. Complete, I returned to the General's side and shared a moment of horror with him.

"How could such a thing as this have happened?" I said, shaking my head. "Surely one of our knights would have seen this happen!"

"None," Forde said. "One of the castle's maids found him lying here like this. She's probably off crying somewhere right now."

"Where is Queen Eirika?" I asked.

"In her chambers," said General Seth. "I ensured she was alright. She says she did not get a proper night's rest, but she also assured me she was well."

"Praise Latona. And, do we-" A thought came to me. "That merchant! The merchant who dined with us! Where is he?"

Forde and Seth shared glances, asking questions with their eyes.

"To be honest, Father," Forde said, pausing to look painfully at his feet, "I have no idea."

"Damn him!" I said, nearly losing control of my emotions then. "He left our dinner, and then we have no clue as to where he went."

"Of course, we can't just jump to those-"

"Find him," Seth barked, interrupting. "Ascertain Sir Marton's whereabouts. Until then, order the captain of the second guard to bar exit from the castle. No man, woman, or child leaves until this matter is settled."

Forde bowed. "Absolutely, General," and he left.

"Have you spoken to Eirika at length?" I said after Forde disappeared, and I tugged at my robes to straighten them, wishing that I could do the same to my tangled thoughts.

"Hm. No. I stationed two of our watchmen at the queen's door to ensure her safety."

"Yes, yes, the queen," I said. I had just then realized how personally I referenced Our Lady, and quickly righted my error. "The queen. I apologize. I should check on Our Lady and ensure her spirit is well."

"Then I will accompany you," Seth said, folding his arms. His eyes floated from me to the circle of people gawking at the dead man.

"That won't be nec- no, yes, of course." I did not quite realize what I had almost done. I had almost dismissed the services of the Knight General of Renais for little reason. Later, it became startlingly obvious how petty I was, and how severe a hypocrite I really was.

We walked down the halls, and I wondered aloud how this innocent soldier could have been butchered in our halls. Without directly condemning him, I made it clear my suspicious of the merchant fellow. I could almost see the edge of his sword protruding from the folds of his billowing coat, could almost see a set of long devil's nails raking against the door to her chamber.

"When the merchant entered the castle ground, was his person checked for any concealed arms?"

"We can't hope to thoroughly search every entrant to the grounds. Sir Marton was a guest of our honor."

"And if he had indeed taken a blade to one of our soldiers?" I said.

"We have done all we could," Seth said, speaking methodically and with precision. "Our guard was positioned to protect one another. Whomever committed this act will be found, any suspicious persons detained."

"Then how could one of our guards have been brutally slain right under our noses without anyone noticing?"

I could hear Seth's heavy breath as he walked behind me. "I do not know, Father Rudolph. Surely we will comb the halls and the grounds relentlessly for any foreign assassins. You are incorrect in your assumption that I know anything more about this tragedy than you do."

I remember sneering, almost turning around to face the general and confronting him on his ambiguous words. Instead, I responded diplomatically, however perplexed I was at how my anger could have crept up on me so suddenly. "I see. I apologize for my harsh tone, General."

At the door to the queen's chambers, the watchmen stepped aside to let Seth rap twice on the door. A tiny, wavering voice urged us entry.

Queen Eirika's sleeping-quarters were spacious and aesthetically pleasing, but most of the room's furnishings were squished uncomfortably in the rear quarter of the quarters. Half the quarter was taken by a large, thickly layered bed, and the other half-a-quarter was taken by a large oaken table pressed against the wall, on which was scattered various pieces of paper, several feather-quills, two large candles, an empty goblet, and an assortment of jewelry and golden trinkets. Hanging on the wall above the table was a watercolor portrait of a tall knight with forest green hair, illuminated in the candle's light. In the lower right corner of the picture was scripted the letter F in sharp gold paint.

The queen sat on her bed, legs off to the side. She was dressed in her usual clothing, and her aquamarine hair—an opaque, amorphous shadow in the dim light—was tied in a tail behind her head, mindful of the boundaries of her face.

"Queen Eirika?" Seth said, entering and standing before her with me to his right.

"My Lady?" I ventured. "Are you well?"

"Aaahh…my head. It hurts."

My aid would have been utterly useless. Her headache, undoubtedly brought upon by the wine, was unaffected by the blessings of my staves, and were I to say anything I would probably have made the situation worse. I asked nonetheless.

"No, no, I am fine. Please pay me no mind." The queen made to sit up and stopped halfway to the top, clutching her head with her right hand and grimacing.

"My Lady!" Seth said. "Please…please, don't…do not overexert yourself. You do not know how much I- how much your kingdom needs your benevolence in these days."

"Yes…ah…yes, yes, of course you are right, Seth. Thank you. I merely cannot believe what has transpired to-night, is all. I could never have anticipated that something like this would ever occur."

It seemed, I thought, that she did not remember her portent the night before.

"I assure you, Queen Eirika," Seth said, "that the Knights of Renais will protect you with our lives and our souls. As long as we live, no harm shall come to you from errant blades in the night. That has been my promise for-ever."

"I'm sorry, Seth," the queen said, looking into her foremost retainer's eyes. "I trained in my swordsmanship so that I could protect myself from harm and still I am always indebted to you and to my brother."

The room fell eerily silent. I _knew_ it then. My faith in the pure _presence_ of evil was unshakable. I looked around the room, saw nothing, and felt helpless. The spectre of the blacksmith, seething in the corner with a blade concealed in his robe, paled in comparison to this. Worst of all, there was no place to which she could run. I believed that if I could only hear the raking claws of this ghoul or perhaps see its putrid flesh—but no, it was tearing away at my beloved queen's _mind_.

"My Lady," Seth said at last. He fell to one knee. "I will serve you until the day I die. I am- I am the one who is indebted to you, Queen Eirika. For-ever, until the end of time itself, will I serve in your name. In these times of trouble, I will protect you tenfold. It's…it is all I can do."

Eirika sighed and turned her head upward, towards the ceiling. Her legs dangled stiffly off the edge of the bed, tightening like bolts of iron. Her body began to quiver ever so slightly.

"Oh, oh…" she moaned, staring into the ceiling. "Ephraim…Brother, help me. Ephraim, Ephraim, why are you here? You know they want to take you away from me." Her voice was distant, as if it had originated from a distant world, or perhaps was on its way to such a world. I wondered, could she truly feel Ephraim's spirit reaching out to her, as I had felt in the Commune? Or was this yet another wretched trick?

"I can't protect you for-ever, Brother," she said. "I- I can't-"

"My Lady!" Seth said suddenly. "Shall Father Rudolph and I take your leave?"

The queen sat up. "Ah! Oh, oh- Father Rudolph, will you stay behind?"

"My Lady?" I said. "Is there something of which you would like to speak?"

The room was a dimly lit altar, where the steps were the door's entryway and the icon of adornment was the queen's bed. She was like the sleeping angel in the bedtime tales my mother used to tell me, save that this princess, rather than being garbed in a white nightgown and angel's halo, was full in her fighting-clothes. Even her sword lay unsheathed on the table near, hilt barely visible in the dim candlelight. Latona says silver is the silk cloth in which the Arch-seraph Leto was born, and therefore, a holy metal. So the sword—the sword must have been the combat of that evil. But, thought I wearily, no small sliver of silver in this world could be tantamount to the suffering my queen felt. How could it be? How could it have been? How could it ever be?

"Please, General Seth," Eirika said. "I wish to speak to Father Rudolph in private. I am sorry."

"Yes. Of course, my queen." Seth looked over at me, his arms crossed behind his back. "Please," -he turned to her- "be well."

Exit the general from the room, his feet swiftly and softly crossing the room. He turned back once, I turned around, and he glanced at me once more before leaving, door shut behind him. It occurred to me that perhaps the general was wary of leaving me alone with the queen. I had been thrown into the path of suspicion, and there I was, the prime suspect, and in an instant I was no longer merely a kindly priest and now I was the crux of evil, alone with the queen, and so I believe all their suspicious eyes were turned on me. I could not understand this, I could not understand the general's suspicions, and I could not understand my own feelings. Fear clouds the judgment, so says my savior the Saint Latona, and during this time I was concerned only with my fear.

"Father Rudolph," Eirika said when we were alone. I knelt at the side of her bed and looked up. "I…I can still hear the scratches."

"I am sorry, my queen. What that I could take away your pain, or even share your burd-"

"Brother?"

I furrowed my brow. "Brother?" I repeated, perplexed.

"I don't know what has happened to him," Eirika said, looking around the room, drumming against her knees with her fingers. "I don't know…they might be trying to hurt him again."

"Who is this?" I said.

"Ephraim!" Eirika said, her body shooting straight upwards. It was halfway between an assurance and a question. Her eyes raced around the room frantically, trying to see every single gleam of light.

I didn't know quite how to respond. Ephraim was dead, everyone knew that, the queen knew that, so why would she fear for him?

"I can't protect him forever. I'm not strong enough. Even if I- even if I-" Eirika stopped mid-sentence. "Oh, oh, Father! The scratching!"

"From where?" I said, looking around. I felt helpless again, a feeling that was steadily becoming as constant and inescapable as dry oats at the break of a fast. I could almost imagine the creature scraping against the walls with its claws as made of oat-meal, mashed together and taken sentience. I almost laughed at the silliness of it all—then again, who would have been in the right to say, "This is what it is"? My tongue, furthermore, felt like dry oats.

"The scratching," Queen Eirika repeated, more urgently. She began twirling her shadowy hair with her fingers.

"From where, My Lady? From where?" I stood, half entrenched in shadows, half entrenched in light.

"The scratching!" she nearly yelled. "The scratching!"

"I cannot- I cannot help you! I don't- I don't know how to help! Where is this sound coming from?"

She buried her head in her hands, sending the pendulum of waiting arcing downward again. She muffled several helpless sobs with her hands. She looked up at me, planted me still where I was, forced roots upon my legs to hold me down. I prayed for her quietly, and I couldn't so much speak as whisper fruitlessly. She spoke.

"Everywhere," she said at last, her voice shaking. "It's coming from _everywhere_! And they—I think they are going to try to hurt him. All of us. And they are among us, all of them!"

"My Lady, please, try to be calm. Try to—to settle yourself." I bent my knee, took her hands in mine and clenched them tightly. "As long as I am here to be your aegis, no harm shall be done to you. No sword, no axe, no inclement spirit, not a reckless curse nor a disgruntled scalawag will ever do you harm. I am the wheat bread guarding you, your inner sanctum."

What was I saying? It was funny, I almost laughed, but I couldn't laugh, I couldn't—but I wanted to, I needed to, that these malignant evils were so inherently foolish that I needed to laugh just to maintain the delicate balance between ill and good humor. I was wheat bread, and I wanted to be her sandwich, because I could never be an angel like her, I could never be a great knight like General Seth. All I could be was a sandwich.

Eirika took in a breath and her helpless shivers became less. "Ah…I…thank you, Father Rudolph. Forgive me. Sometimes, I regret that my fears take on strange forms. But, most of all, I want all of us to be safe. Especially…my brother." She turned to look me in the eye. "My…brother. He does not say a word, but…he needs to be protected."

I wanted to scream, "he wants to speak with you! He wants to reach out to you as he has always done! He wants to protect _you_, Eirika!", but I did not. Instead, I sheepishly said, "Er, I…I am sure he is safe. It was a far better thing to do that he could have ever done, and he is in a far better place now than he could ever be."

"But, Father Rudolph? I was thinking of something."

"Yes, My Lady?"

"What if…what if blue was green and green was blue, and someone said that overnight that blue was green and green was blue. Then the grass would be blue as the needles on the trees, and the sky would be as green as the waves of the oceans. What would that mean? What would that mean for all of us?"

I paused. My mouth was caught several times opening and closing before I settled on what to say. "I do believe, Queen Eirika, that if anyone were to change the colors, they would first have to answer to you."

I smiled, intending strongly to appear carefree and humorous, but I believed I only appeared nervous and frightened, my bent knee quivering, my hand clutching the healing staff nestled in my robes. I do not believe she noticed.

"Father Rudolph?" she said, looking at me.

"Yes, My Lady?"

"I think…that maybe the sky is red."

-

The news of Queen Eirika's wine-induced delirium the day prior traveled to the city below quickly and easily. The gossips and tragedy-tramps (those who reveled in other's pain) spread the word of their reverent lady's outrageous behavior, and the cityscape was at once ablaze with smugness and perverse pleasure. It was as if the recently discovered news of a murdered man was _piddling_ compared to the sovereign lady's drunken bacchanalia. Cries of "She is not our queen!" and "Hail King Ephraim!" rose from the town commons and resounded into the air. They were ungrateful, the lot of them, each one ignorant of the horror and the discomfort pervading the castle ground, each one feeding greedily on the ignominy, disgracing themselves. Unruly mobs in the city below threatened to riot, and the problem became so flagrant that Commander Forde and a battalion of mounted knights were sent to quell the human tides with dams of lances and swords.

What fools, those common folk! A pure, kindred soul dedicates her life and her time to rebuild her kingdom, and in return, her people latch on to her darkest hour and revel in pools of their own sadism. They cursed the queen, decrying her ineptitude and uncaring heart, all the while fully aware that the queen would never execute them as punishment. I hated them. I hated them for not understanding her suffering. I was one of them once, but no longer.

Later in that day, once I was dressed and washed, I went to the armory and found Forde and General Seth talking. The general was sharpening a steel sword against a grindstone intermittently; his subordinate stood, his feet nudging idly against the stone floor. The armory, in addition to serving as a glorified fitting-room for the armoured knight division, was also a surprising hotbed of camaraderie. I came here on occasion to speak with one of the soldiers or to replace a depleted staff, and I often saw off-duty soldiers conversing freely. Today, however, there were only two present as I walked in.

The armory was a spacious place; against two of the walls were hung rows of swords, lances and axes, and shields of varying sizes with unvarying emblems embossed on the fronts. Near the edges of the walls, racks of armor had been aligned side-by-side, each one belonging to an individual knight. The middle of the room was taken by such things as tables, chairs, grindstones, a small anvil…

I walked over to where the general sat and the commander stood, taking a seat at the wooden table and folding my hands.

"-and so the townsfolk have settled?" Seth said.

Forde nodded. "It would seem so. There are still some circles of rowdy behavior, most of them surrounding the taverns, much to my infinite surprise." He grinned like a fox.

"As long as they pose no great threat, pay them no mind. The lower guards and the militia will deal with them. In the meanwhile, make sure the castle is impregnable and that no stray arms are thrown about the halls. What of the blacksmith? Was he present in the castle at the time this slaying occurred?"

"Several of the watchmen have said that they saw several people leave some two hours before mid-night, but they didn't say for sure whether it was Marton or not—apparently they hadn't seen him up close at all." Forde said. There were large black fatigue-circles ringing around his eyes, which were themselves puffed and red.

"And what of the captains of the guard?"

"I spoke with one. He said he believes the merchant Marton left with several bodyguards about two hours before mid-night, but…" Forde paused. "He wasn't willing to wager his knighthood on it. I offered a few hundred shine if he would wager it up, but…"

Seth's eyes narrowed. "You offered his knighthood in exchange for assurance of verity?"

"Er…well, not lit—"

Seth seemed appalled. Without losing his composure, the Knight General steamed. It seemed to me that he felt blindsided by a raging horse, and that he had no idea what to say in response.

"You honestly would say such a thing?" Seth said at last, staring Forde down. "Such a stupid little thing. I would have thought you'd have possessed a sense of tact! But no!"

Forde smiled, but his eyes were somewhere else. "You wound me, General."

"It's not skin deep."

"True."

"It is what it is," the general said. "For now, all we can do is wait and play the defensive. No man will be allowed armed, alone, in the same room as Queen Eirika. The watch will be doubled at the gates of the castle, and no suspicious person shall be allowed entry."

"Of course, General," Forde said.

"And if you see Sir Franz, tell him his diligence and sense of duty is appreciated. I know he's been working hard recently."

"Can do. I'm sure my brother would be overjoyed to hear that, though less so hearing it through me."

"Yes. Well, you can understand how I would be unable to tell him in person. Oh, and Forde?"

"Yes, General Seth?"

General Seth sat up and took a moment to think. Then, he asked, "Is something amiss?"

The commander turned his head to the side slightly. "What do you mean?"

"You don't seem to be your usual self. Are you well today?"

"Ahhh—I understand." Forde smiled calmly. "Yeah, General, I'm fine. It's just that…maybe I'm still a bit preoccupied. I guess I haven't got used to the whole 'people dying' bit. Never have been, really. Sorry about that." He bid Seth good day with a painfully ironic smile and left, his feet taking a markedly different stride than the general's. I would have offered the commander the benediction of my staff if it would have helped him, but I understood that some wounds were better left to heal on their own.

"General Seth?" I ventured when the commander had left. The general's face was exhausted and troubled. His eyes, heavy like rock, were pulled down towards the ground, and he hung his arms down, his powerful silver sword clenched firmly in one hand.

Seth sighed. "Sometimes, Father, I don't know anymore. Sometimes, you find your purpose, and even so, you wonder if…you wonder if things could have been different. If things had turned out differently. If we had not been born where we were born, if we had not traveled where we have traveled, would it change our fate?" He pressed the long edge of the blade to the grindstone again, before withdrawing it and examining his work.

"What is a purpose?" I asked rhetorically. "I do not know. Perhaps there isn't one, hmm? Even if you find a purpose, it can change suddenly if you have an epihpahny about…this or that. And in the end, there is no purpose tantamount to living, or protecting life. If we believe in what Latona teaches then perhaps we will be reunited in the Commune, or even if we do not believe maybe so. But in this life…shouldn't we do what makes ourselves happy? That is the paramount goal. To live and be happy." I paused, and I shared a pensive look with the general. "Are you happy, General Seth?"

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. I often made a habit of guessing what a person might say before the person spoke, but now I had honestly no idea. Maybe Seth didn't either.

"I…I want to be. But, given all the circumstances into which I am thrust, given all the duties I would never fail to perform, given the place into which I was born and the rank for which I have worked…I don't know. There is but one thing that would make me happy—yet, be it happen or not, I can't pursue. And I mustn't even think it. Otherwise, my satisfaction is…living, as you said. I am the knight general of Renais, and I serve my kingdom and my lady until death. I would live until the situation calls for me to sacrifice myself, and then I would. That is all."

"I see." I smiled. "That's a very honorable purpose," I said, deliberating my every word. "Do what you feel is right…regardless of whether you would succeed…in the end, you can only be happy if you listen to your own code of morals, your own sense of purpose. Do you agree?" It was less a rhetorical question, I recall, than a question borne of curiosity. In some ways, I was a priest seeking guidance from another.

"It is as you said. I have sworn to serve of my own volition. If I could have chosen my life again, I would choose the same."

"Yes…I agree. I really could not see you in any other position," I said. "Not to undermine your other talents, of course. But you were born to follow this path. You are, as I've said before, quite unequalled. In some ways, it is both remarkable and enviable for you to have followed such a difficult and often thankless path."

"Have you followed the path you wished, Father Rudolph?" Seth said, looking over at me.

"I? Well, I…I have…I have followed a path that has brought me great happiness. The way of Latona. This service does bring me happiness." For a while, I could think of nothing to say, and I sat with the general in silence, and for a moment, we might have been more than merely comrades-in-arms, but perhaps friends. But maybe, more accurately, it was only a mutual identity, and nothing more. At last I said, "I would not have changed my path for anything."

The room, this armory: it was a constant reminder that war, suffering, strife, were all ever present. There would always be the bellicose fools who fought for things they did not believe in or did not understand, simply because of a desire for money or a lust for blood. Then, there would be the people who fought because they had a reason: something they wanted to protect, some interest too important to lose, an interest so important it was worth killing hundreds, thousands to achieve. And, in the corners of the world, despite all of this, there would live the people who genuinely, honestly hated war and suffering and refused to face it under any circumstances. One way or another, be it a war against nations or the illness of a loved one, there was no avoiding strife.

I hated fighting. I hated trouble, I hated war, I hated strife, I hated suffering and I was willing to fight to protect those who battled against such things. If there were something I could have done, I would have done so; I would have recklessly thrown away my life to protect the people I loved. I would gladly have done anything to save goodness in this world, and as long as I lived, hatred and disdain would be my enemies.

"I…must ask your forgiveness," Seth said, after what seemed like an eternity of silence. His words were as deliberate and honest as his prior words were. "I apologize for suspecting you of any wrongdoing. I can see now that you would never raise a hand or a blade against one of our own, let alone Our Lady. Lately I have felt the pressure of perhaps the entire Kingdom falling upon my shoulders, and this pressure has caused my temperament to be brittle and unrestrained. So I ask your forgiveness, Father Rudolph."

"Never give up hope, General Seth," I said, smiling. "All is forgiven, as long as you wish for them to be. As long as the sun shines on this great land, there will always be reason to hope and to smile. I reiterate my earlier sentiments: you are most the nonpareil, General Seth. One day you will tell your children a fine bedtime tale of your deeds."

"Children, hmm? A ways away, I would reckon."

"You must forgive me, General Seth," I said. "It is now when I would usually say something witty, but I…cannot find any humor. Good-bye."

As I rose from my seat, I wondered what it was that plagued our castle, our lady, and our men. I wondered what it was that had killed my humor. I bid the general a good-day and left the armory.

-

The next days were like whirlwinds. I felt whisked away from one event to the next, from one day to another, all while in the clutches of my own emotions. I prayed for the living, especially my queen, and I meditated, seeking the Commune. In the Commune, I saw the recently departed: Sir Kyle and the murdered soldier. Their faces were billowing, ethereal wisps of white clouds, and as soon as I returned to reality, the faces disappeared.

Later that day, in the afternoon, one of our guardsmen found another soldier dead, impaled with his own spear and consumed by stab wounds. Hearing this made me wonder how I ever left a world so perfect to return to this one.

Another man died that night in much the same fashion. General Seth and the soldiers were frightened that whomever was assassinating these people was doing so undetected, and, most unusually, in a random fashion. With each killing, Eirika became increasingly more distraught. The morning following the latest attack, I knelt at my queen's throne bearing witness to a forest-cover of fallen hair, her fingers curling through her locks and pulling violently. She insisted she was fine, that she could protect us all, even as she lamented the damned scratching sounds. Still, she insisted that with time she could heal herself, that she could make the evil go away. I suggested, utterly terrified and concerned, that she retire to her chambers to rest. I watched her walk away with the aid of two soldiers, and after she disappeared, I prayed on my staff to Latona that she would be free from her suffering and her delusions. It was all I could do. I kept hope intact.

That night, another man was found dead, this time in a hall closer to the throne chamber, in an area that was well-traveled, rather than a branching hall, as had been the precedent. The castle was in a state of utter panic. Soldiers dashed through here and there, the watches were doubled and tripled, and the shadow of doubt was cast upon every single person present. No soldier was to walk the halls alone, every watch was to be at least two guards, and each was to watch the other. No man or woman was safe. The queen was watched from the rising of the sun to the setting of the moon, unless she requested her watch to be relieved.

The night of that slaying, General Seth approached me with a stern warning that whomever was killing our soldiers might come after me as well. I would have been fearful for my life if I weren't already afraid for the lives of others. I didn't know who was doing this. Perhaps this was the same thing plaguing my queen. I didn't know if it was. I didn't know, and the pain of not knowing suffocated me. I had become accustomed to believing in Latona, but only because I could see Her influence, understand Her grace. I could not see whomever—or _what_ever—was doing this, and I had nothing to believe in, no ideas or texts on which to base my knowledge.

I remember then that one day Forde approached me with the interesting news that the blacksmith, Sir Marton, had been found dead. His face was gaunt and deathly pale as he told me the blacksmith was found dead in this very castle, slumped over a rack of silver weaponry in one of the castle's "secret" armories, his body covered in sword wounds. I could only stand there, oblivious, and nod. Not a murderer, the blacksmith was just another victim, caught skulking around in places he shouldn't, but naught else.

Something was happening, and merely the fact that things were changing worried me. I wanted to change something myself. I wanted to take Eirika's pain from her like a seraph with three white wings and a great halo. I couldn't. I stewed; I reverted to my old, immature self for a time. I was frustrated: Frustrated that I could not change the situation, frustrated that all the people around me were suffering, and frustrated that I was essentially at the mercy of others. I felt like half a man, an empty husk, a man who has yet to prove himself worthy of his own virtues, his own ideals.

It became clear—clearer than even the morning sun—that I was the antithesis of the ideal for which I strove. I had become the hopeless observer who couldn't do a thing to help. Greater than that, I had become the paragon of my childhood frustrations. I had become the man I had promised myself I would not: I had become a man of empty promises, of idle hands, a slave to empty prayers and routine, all while swearing wholeheartedly that I would deliver myself from such things. Every day I spent watching my queen in pain was a day closer to my worthlessness. My beloved queen's pain was my own; I took that pain upon myself as though it had always been mine alone. Still I could not change it, but I tried, I _tried_, and I damned myself not for trying _more_!

Others heard phantom footsteps in the halls behind them in those times of killing and death; I heard phantom scratches. I could not sleep that night, and I was so convinced the scratches were around me that I almost began to hear them. Again, I could do nothing. I meditated, but could feel no evil. I prayed, but could see no change. And furthermore, I fell asleep fearing things would be worse the following day.

-

The next morn came and went without incident. In the after-noon time, Queen Eirika summoned the general and me to her chambers. When we entered, we were both surprised to see no guardsmen in her chambers: Only she remained, sitting slumped and fetal in her giant throne so far away.

Seth presented himself and I followed in suit. Our Lady rose to her feet, beckoned us to rise, and pointed a finger towards one of the walls.

"My Lady?" Seth said.

"It's…the scratching!" Eirika said. Her face was pale as a bed-sheet, her eyes trembling and bloodshot. Her entire countenance was disheveled, body wracked with shivers. She was singularly distracted by the one wall, which was completely normal in appearance. Still, she pointed a shaky finger towards the wall as if she had suffered a terrible grievance at its hands.

"But…from where?" I asked. "I can see nothing."

"No—from the wall!" Eirika insisted, pointing. "I know, I know, there's something scratching from that side of the wall!"

I shared a glance with the general. "From the other side?" I ventured.

Seth drew his sword, cocked his head, said a word, and we moved. We dashed from the throne room, and I could barely keep up with the roaring feet of the general. We moved in the direction where the queen had heard the noises, combing the west wing of the castle, searching the halls frantically for the source of the noises. We ran at such a pace that the walls melted away behind us, and I caught glimpses of small red flames fading away through the cold stone halls. I felt a horrible sense of foreboding and was ironically worried for my _own_ safety as the lights faded away. Latona seemed so far away in these dark corridors.

My faith in Latona could not save me in this world, I knew, yet I also knew that was not the point at all. Simply, I was afraid. Fear—a horrible, horrible emotion, the basest of emotions. But, because I was determined to see this endeavor through until the very last, I pushed onward. I pushed onward because I wanted to prove to my queen, to the general, to them all, that I was dependable and not merely an empty vessel to spew forth Latona's words. I wanted to help. For once, I wanted to help _her_, my queen. I wanted to be _her_ light!

Dark was it here, and I stumbled behind the general in the shadow. I swore to her that I would be her wheat bread. I swore.

"No torches here?"

"Must have burnt out," said Seth from somewhere in front of me. We shuffled along, turning further, turning the corridors, turning away until I was certain we were far, far from the throne room, and that she couldn't possibly have heard something from this far away. We had turned into another pitch-dark corridor, the hall damp and smelling of raw musk, when I felt a hand stop me and anchor me in my tracks.

"Stop!" Seth hissed. "Do you- do you hear that?"

I stopped. I listened. I leaned forward, craned my ears, resting on the toes of my feet. For a moment, I heard only the unnerving sounds of silence, a faint buzzing in my ears from the sound of biorhythm surging against the walls of my body. Then, a brief moment- there! A scratching! A squealing scratch, like a set of devil's claws against the cold damp stones of the wall. My muscles tensed, my body nearly twisting forward. The awful raking sounds came at irregular intervals, parsed by what sounded to me like impish laughter.

"Caution!" Seth barked quietly, his voice commanding in low volumes. He stepped forward, drawing his sword from its scabbard, and even in the darkness I could almost see the silver glistening, pulsating as if to detect evil.

I heard the scratching, the infernal squealing surging again and again and—Latona save me!—it was like the shrill droning of a demon! We inched closer to the next bend in the chamber, bodies pressed against the wall. I could hear Seth quietly growl like a mad dog: furious, wild, and unpredictable. Inching along the wall silently with him, I nearly felt his hands clench the hilt of his blade, nearly heard the gritting of his teeth, nearly saw the righteous fury in his eyes and the zeal in the edge of his blade.

One blur in the passage of a second, Seth leapt up with a suppressed battle cry, I rushed forward after him in a blur of robes, hand touched to the cover of a tome, and we turned the corner left. My heart beat like a hammer against the anvil of the forge. My hands burned with the passion of a drum. Was this it? A million thoughts ran through my mind, how this would be the crux of my dear queen's suffering, how this would win me the victory over evil and injustice and sordid things I so desperately sought, how this devil could have caused so much chaos, so much torment, so much—much—_suffering_! I followed Seth as he turned the corner and stopped.

"Who are you?" Seth barked.

Around the corner, I stood with every fiber of my being tensed to the utmost. A short hallway stretched out like sinew, turning then to the left, and along both the right and left walls were hung lit torches sparingly. Between two of the torches stood a man in soldier's garb, bearing the insignia of Renais, with a sword sheathed at his belt. The man held a pointed white stone in his hand, and he turned to the general with a look halfway between surprise and indifference.

"I'm just a soldier!"

"What are you doing here?" Seth asked.

"What am I doing?" the soldier said. "Why does it matter? I've the right to be here! I'm not on duty. Got every right to be here!" He laughed. "Don't matter, don't matter! I got every right, I do!"

The wall nearest the soldier's hand was etched with columns of marks, in groups of five. I couldn't say how many there were, but they ran along innumerably in columns and rows, whited marks carved by stone in stone.

"I don't think you understand," Seth said, his breaths coming in shallow beats. "I am your general. Now tell me," he continued, this time with more force, "what are you doing here?"

"All I'm doing is counting on the walls," the soldier said, a smile emerging. Turning the corner, I had expected to find some _horreur_ of gargantuan proportions, and instead I found this fellow. His skin was gaunt, paled, and slightly shriveled, most likely from malnutrition or lack of bile or some silly thing. He was short, but rather thin, and he looked oddly out of place in soldier's armor. His hands and his face twitched, his nose protruded from his face, and his grin was disturbing, perhaps insubordinate. Even in the dim light, I could see his fingernails possessed by thick soot and grime. His teeth were crooked and looked like fangs whenever he "smiled". Above one eye was a small scar, jagged like mad lightning. I usually knew the faces of most of the soldiers ambling around the castle, but this _thing_ did not look familiar to me.

"All I'm doing is counting all the times I've seen her in pers'n," he said. Even his voice sounded nearly mad. Every sentence he said was punctuated with a half-laugh, and his lips always curled up into the same grin at the end like little devil whiskers. The torchlight made his face look odd. Shivers surged through my body.

"I can count, at least. I'm not stupid enough to not know that! Just because I can't read don't mean I can't count lines on the wall, huh? Hm, hm, hm. Don't you believe me, huh?" The soldier looked from me to the general and then to the stone in his hands. He pressed he point of the stone to the wall and moved it downward, issuing a horrible screeching, scratching noise. I trembled, convulsed. Was this it? Was this despicable, huddling little imp the cause of these scratching noises all along? I looked to my left. General Seth seethed with anger beside me. I saw him tremble.

"E'ry time I see her beautiful, high n' mighty face I get all sweaty and _tight_," the man said, laughing. His body twitched as he raked the stone against the walls, each time marking another white line. "Hee hee…she's such a lady, oh, what a lady! And she's, ohhh, she's so much better than 'em girls I all threw away before, naw, she's much better n' them! _Tight_…down theres, hm? Down _theres_? You know how the feelin' is, bein' that you're both fellas, dontcha, fellas?" He leaned in towards us, still grinning like the devil.

Seth pursed his lips, his hands clenched sternly beside him. "You—Sir—"

"Wham!" The strange man said suddenly, baring teeth again. "Wham! Wham, wham, wham! You know what that is, dontcha, fellas? That's the sound of me slammin' her so hard, right where it hurts! You know what I mean, dontcha? Huh? Right in her little…hee hee, you know, right? Right, her in chains, you know? And once I see her enough times, once this whole wall's filled with up with these lines she'll be mine, mine alone, just like King Rutabaga! Haaa haaaaaa ha hee hee!"

Whomever this lady was, I was worried for her.

"Ohhh, I see her," the man said, now gesturing wildly with his hands, the pointed stone swinging here and there. "I see her and I get craaaaaazed, like I wanna strap her down or something! Ohhhh, once I see her, I get her, I'll tie her to my bed and yaaaaa! yaaaaaaa! yaaaaaaaaa! And I'll have my way with her," -his voice was rising, trundling like a wheel down a hill- "I'll slam her, rip her naked, use her as my plaything, take her, haaaaa! haaaa!, take her and s-"

The man was thrown against the wall in a second, the words forcefully squashed from his tongue, his neck wrung by the general's hands. Seth pushed him against the stone, hands like vice, his eyes ripping and rending and lashing with fury. I was frightened beyond words. He—Seth, the calm general, who never lost his temper or acted rashly—now throttled the man, not leaving the soldier a sliver to move or even breathe. No, instead he gasped pitifully and croaked like some shriveled witch's newt. Even in the general's rage there was a terrible calm, a cool burning as if this was the simplest thing in the world to wring the life from the poor wretch.

I had known the knight general, but I had never known him to be this furious. Perhaps he never had been. Perhaps he never will be again. He will always be cool, always be warm, but he could never match this icy rage. This was he, defending goodness. The general choked each spot of sparse pink from the soldier's cheeks, the color from his lips, and every labored breath from his throat. It seemed like ages. It seemed like ages, then Seth released the man, and the poor wretch wheezed and coughed and backed up against the wall, eyeing Seth as though he were the face of fear itself.

_Yaaaaa! Yaaaaa! Yaaaaa! _The awful voice still rang through my ears.

"Enough. You will never say such things again," the general said at last, flexing his fingers. His voice belied his rage but amplified the cold: The voice was calm, strong, resolute, and frighteningly so. His _presence_ commanded attention, as it always did—now it carried warning also. "I do not know about whom it is you speak, but you will never use such profane language in this castle. You have spent all your waking hours rotting here, a derelict of duty, when you should be off serving your sworn sovereign liege. You should know better than to speak in such defiled, wretched terms, and certainly not in these troubled times. Go. Run away. Return to your post, wherever that may be. There are things I don't want to do, do not even want to _consider_ doing. Don't tempt me further; it is surely not your wish that you tempt me further, is it?"

The poor soldier stood up, nearly fell to the ground again with trembling legs, but instead ran off in another direction, opposite the direction whence we came. All the way around the corner he whimpered and laughed in terror, feet scuffling as he went away without even the thought of a backwards glance.

We walked back to the queen's throne chambers in relative silence. I asked the general once if he believed that man to be the source of the scratching. He said he did not know. I asked him once—somewhat timidly—why he was so forceful with that man, and he replied simply, "I would do anything in defense of My Lady." It occurred to me that the man had never once mentioned Eirika's name, and perhaps it was not even her about whom he was rambling. Even so, Seth defended Our Lady to the best of his knowledge and ability, which I supposed was ever to be expected. A thought occurred to me that Seth did not believe that strange man to be the murderer at least—were he, I was sure that Seth would have slain him.

-

To our surprise, when General Seth and I returned to the throne room, it was empty. We were left alone to wonder and worry quietly for a while amongst the blue and gold tapestries along the walls shouting the emblem of the royal family—and shouting the name and sigil of the lone Queen—loud and bold.

Queen Eirika came in quite some minutes later, her hand clutched around her rapier, which hung at her side. Her hair was disheveled, her ceremonial garb askew on her body. She spoke loudly before even noticing we had come.

"E-Ephraim was in danger. He was going to hurt him, so I- I stopped him from hurting Ephraim. I needed to save him. He needed my help. Needed my help."

I shared a confounded glance with the general.

"In danger, My Lady?" I said, turning to watch as she walked mechanically across the room. "What do you mean?"

"Perhaps I should explain something," Eirika said, taking a seat on her throne. She braced her arms against the arms of her perch. "I need to protect my dear Brother. If anything were to happen to him, I could not forgive myself. There are many, many people who want to hurt my Brother, and I can't let that happen."

"Your rapier," Seth said, "it-" He stopped, bit his lip.

I hadn't noticed until that moment, but I could see, clear as day, the brilliant silver of her sword stained a thick sanguine. Her right hand still clutched the rapier with a death-grip, hanging off the side of throne.

The queen turned her head up and looked the general straight in the eye. "Ephraim…he was going to hurt Ephraim. I had to protect him." Her voice was tiny but absolute. "Brother needs me. Brother needs me to protect him."

"You need to rest, My Lady. Perhaps I could escort you to your sleeping-quarters?"

"No!" the queen hissed. "Ahh—n-no, thank you, Sir Seth. No, I must sit here and be ever vigilant on my seat. Were anything ill to befall my brother while I was asleep, I could never forgive myself."

"Ah, but-" Seth stopped and sighed. I glanced over at him and saw that fatigue had settled over his face, mingling with concern in his features, and I supposed it was a perfect mirror of my own. The general, it seemed, found no room for convincing Our Lady off her throne. I would have taken his place in voicing my concern if I believed it would have helped.

"Very well," the general said at last. "Stay well, my queen."

"I believe that you must stay well yourself. You look ill, Seth? Was it perhaps something you've eaten? Never matter. Take care of yourself, and you as well, Father. I have already given to caring for two."

"Of course. Well, I bid my leave."

I turned to leave as well when my queen suddenly cried, "Wait!" and I stopped and turned around. In the instant I had turned away, her face had turned from mild pink to ghost white.

"Father Rudolph, it persists…it persists. I don't know. It's them, it's them. They're trying to kill…"

Eirika was ill, delusional, or something of the sorts, I did not know of any herbs or any staves to ward off a worsening bout of madness and furthermore I was afraid that if she wasn't in her room, closely guarded, still, sleeping, quiet and tactful, then she—

"It persists!" the queen screamed, and rose to her feet. Seth stepped forward, his hand instinctively moving to his blade then darting away as quickly as before.

"What persists?" I asked, knowing well the answer.

"The scratches! The scratches! They're calling me. They've come to get Ephraim and then they'll get Lyon too but I can't save them both and I don't know who is making these scratches but if I did I'd- I'd-" The queen stopped to take a barrage of breaths into her heaving chest, and she fell back onto her throne, her body a feather and her throne the soft earth. "I'd kill them," she said.

_Kind Latona, gracious Latona, please save her, _I thought, _I don't ask anything of you but to save the people whom I hold dear. Please…please, oh Saint, please…_

The door to the chamber swung open suddenly and a soldier charged in, breathless, followed soon after by Commander Forde. The commander's light hair was disheveled, his posture unnaturally rigid and serious.

"General Seth!" the first soldier said. "I was patrolling the back halls and—there's a man dead back there!"

"What?" Seth exclaimed, hand falling to his sword. "Again? Damn it. Take me to him."

"I'll stay behind," Forde said. The Commander's face was deadly serious and his features dire. His hand too strayed to his sword, his eyes watching the door to the chamber like a hawk, his posture tense and ready to strike at a given moment. Even the common soldier, still out of breath, was tensed as if ready to pounce—or perhaps expecting to be pounced.

"I will accompany you, General Seth, as I have before." I said.

Seth opened his mouth as if to argue, then seemed to think differently. "Of course," he said, and hurried out after the soldier, with me following closely at their heels. To my great surprise, we largely retraced the steps that Seth and I had walked before in search of the scratches. Eventually we turned a corner into a small hall, dimly lit by a single torch. This particular hall was near the rear of the castle's top floor, in a winding series of halls we called the Labyrinth, along which were nestled various storerooms, secret passages built by monarchs past, and deserted common rooms. Under the single torch was the slumped corpse of a man, his arms hanging limply at his side. A sword, which was most likely his, was driven into his chest, and his body was punctured with dozens of other stab wounds that seemed to have come from something else. A small brook of blood trickled from his mouth, which was curled up into a horrible smile. The fingers of one hand were mortally curled around a small white rock.

"General Seth," I made to say, but he stopped me.

"It's him," he said, falling to one knee. "It's the man from before."

There was the horror. There was the horror! The despicable little imp was dead here, and seeing him—seeing that it was him—evoked in me a horror unlike anything I had felt before. I could almost feel my skin blanching a spectral white, the shivers throbbing up and down my spine like the pulse of a dead man. I looked down at him. Here was a man who spoke to me not long ago, a man who had the first traces of life choked out of him by the general, but he was alive then, alive, and now he was dead! I did not know why I was so terrified by _this_ man's death above all others, but as I looked at him, as I watched the general examine the body, I came to realize something. This man did not perpetuate horrors with his hands. He was only a sad, despicable pervert with an odd temperament. But his being—his very _existence_ was horror. His man was obsessed, this man was frightened, this man was a coward, and now he was dead, the horrible little devil was dead, tens of stab wounds in his chest. But someone had done this to him, and his voice was still fresh in my mind, and I could almost hear the words squeaking from his dead lips. He was dead, which meant somebody killed him…recently!

I had a moment of realization then. It was perhaps the most horrible moment of my life. The ignorant say that their birthright is bliss. I feared the truth, feared the knowledge, because I didn't want to believe. I had to believe. I never hated myself more than I did at that moment, though I had loathed myself my entire life. I had no place ignoring the truth.

"G-General Seth. We must go," I said. "Back to the throne chambers."

Seth's face was pale. He touched one of the dead man's stab wounds with his silver sword and a small bit of blood smeared onto the point.

"Yes. Yes, let us go. Now."

We rushed through the halls. Every word of comfort, every prayer I hastily said ameliorated by fear, but every footstep I made, dashing through the halls behind the general, intensified that fear until my very insides were whited by horror. I wanted to turn back. I couldn't turn back. I couldn't help any longer. I wanted to run away, lock myself away, lament from the distance, pray to my Saint that it would all be all right. I could not. I could not. We ran around the halls, and we turned the last corner until we were outside the door to Our Lady's throne chamber. The door to the chamber was shut tight. Just outside the door, Commander Forde sat weakly against the wall, his sword out of reach.

Seth and I gasped upon seeing him. Seth said nothing, but I whispered a faint "Commander Forde…" and nothing more. The commander rose his head, as if full in the knowledge that someone had arrived yet unable to truly affirm that knowledge. I watched helplessly. His mouth was like an island, the last bit of life clinging to his body. His last words were the beginning and end of his being.

"My Lord…Prince Ephraim…know that I would never do anything…to harm you, and neither…neither would…" Forde sputtered, his voice coming in weak, confused bursts. His head lolled around, his eyes threatening to roll back in his head. His shoulders fell back, lacking the energy to move forward or even hold himself up anymore, and soon his entire body slumped. Seth fell to one knee, barked Forde's name, commanding him to look up, stay awake, look at him, refusing the commander permission to fade away.

"Ah-h-h…" Forde said, rasping. "Neither would…Ky…le…."

Forde's head slumped to the side and its eyes closed. The wounds were mortal; I feared and I prayed, but his wounds told me it was nothing if not over for him.

"Damn it all," Seth said. "What happened? Why did this happen the way it did? I don't know why any of this is happening!"

"We need to go into the throne room," I said, my mouth dry. "We must. Now."

"Yes. I know." His voice was resigned. He put his hands around the handles of the door, pulled them open, drew his sword, and I turned and walked with him into the chamber.

"My Lady!" he yelled.

There, about halfway down the hall between the doors and the throne, Queen Eirika stood, her silver rapier barely glinting in the brazen white flames of the torches. Several feet from her, an unarmed soldier in unadorned armor stood petrified. His eyes flitted towards me, and then to the general.

"General Seth!" he yelled, and the voice echoed throughout the room. "Help me! Please! Oh Gods, help me! Help me! The queen's—the queen's gone m—"

His words were choked from him. The point of the queen's rapier was thrust viciously through his chest, and his futile words were replaced with blood. The queen withdrew the sword as quickly as it had been thrust, coating it further in crimson.

"You!-!-!" the queen yelled as the soldier slumped to the floor, first to his knees, then onto his face. "_YOU_!-!-! You dare harm my dear brother?-!-! You dare?-!-? You dare defy me?" At that moment, her voice was absolute, ever present like the rising of the sun or the waning of the moon. From a distance, there was a cerulean gleam in her eyes like poisoned heavens, and there was not a glimpse of reason or second thought. She took the man by the head and he could only look on in petrified horror.

_We_ could only look on in petrified horror.

"You dare threaten my brother's well-being while I stand in this very room? You threaten him, threatening to take his life, the life of the one who I love so dearly? Take away from me? You? You, who come here under the tattered pretenses of protecting me? YOU! DAMN YOU! I am the protector here, I am the guardian, I am the king and I am the queen! Or do you doubt that my sword arm is absolute?" The queen's fingers bore into the man's head, and he uttered what sounded like a weak whimper of pain. "He taught me everything I knew about the art and sciences of war! _Everything_! _EVERYTHING_! I…I am working to repay that debt!" She squeezed her fingers harder into the man's skull, surely it couldn't have been that strong, but the man writhed under her grip. With each word, her voice became more and more and more manic.

This was what it was, I realized. This was why I could not feel any evil, not sense any evil. There was no evil here. There was never any evil here to begin with, only madness and sadness. It was exactly as I had felt in the Commune. There was no evil here, and yet Ephraim, who reached out so desperately for his sister's touch, was not heard, only dreamt about feverishly. Eirika spoke his name, swore to defend his life, but she could not hear him, could not feel his touch. It was too far away from her, or perhaps it was her who was too far away.

"And you…YOU dare to take him away from me?" Eirika continued, face arched in fury, eyes boring into the soul of the helpless soldier. "YOU! You who try to raise a lance against my brother? Brother! _Brother_! You'll never take him while I yet live! _Never_!" Her last word was like a honeyed hiss.

"NO!"

Seth shouted, raced forward, and the queen's rapier stopped just as it was about to pierce the man's vitals, and my beloved queen dropped her victim, turned to face the general, and spat "_YOU_!" as if he were just another assassin come to kill her beloved brother.

The passage of time had no meaning now. The general's sword would always rise just a second before the queen's, and the general's arm would always be just a touch quicker.

I knew foremost why Seth was so utterly horrified as he raced forward. He desired her—surely, secretly, helplessly, hopelessly—because every man desires the single paragon of womanhood, the woman embodying all the purity and good graces of the world itself. Queen Eirika was perhaps the closest thing to that perfection left on this tainted earth. I understood this, because I knew Seth was the type of man who deplored the sordid side of reality, just as I did.

The last bit of innocence had been torn from her virgin body, the General's pure silver sword thrusting upwards through her vitals. The sword tore a rift clean through Eirika's beautiful heart, opening a gateway to liberation and companionship in her lonely bosom, through which she was finally freed from her suffering. It was something he must do, I knew. It could not be avoided. On that day, in her madness, Our Lady was somehow destined to die.

I don't remember exactly what happened then. It was as if my mind had twisted in upon itself during that time, warping my memories, contorting my vision into millions of spiraling ribbons. All I remember is the hollow sound of my feet running forward, the sight of her body falling, the sounds of my own repeated whispers saying I love you, I _loved_ you, I loved you as purely as a man could love a woman, and the sound of my desperate prayers begging Latona to save a tree in Paradise for this woman. I remember sobbing uncontrollably, remember the deathly feeling of warm blood on my hands, and I remember trembling so forcefully and shaking so violently I could not hold her still in my arms. I remember feeling broken madness, hearing screams of horror and dismay swirling around me, seeing the world buckling around me so violently I truly believed it was all a horrible nightmare and that the spinning darkness would slow down and cast away soon. And, worst of all, I remember half the tears I cried being shed for myself and myself alone. I remember everything but I can't remember anything.

I hated Seth. As much as I told myself that this was Latona's fate, that this was the unenviable, inalterable ending to a familiar story, that forgiveness in the face of mercy and horror was the Saint's greatest gift; still I hated him. His actions saved her, freed her, blessed her with merciful freedom from madness at the climax of her life, and still I hated him beyond justification for taking her from me. Our Lady was gone, our kingdom was in shambles, and my devotion to Latona was tainted by the sacrilegious rage and hatred scalding my soul.

Days passed, life continued, the hands of time refusing to stop for anyone. Queen Eirika was buried alongside Commander Forde in the royal burial grounds. I made a point to visit the grounds every day as part of my round of prayers, and every day I would watch from a window as General Seth walked to the grounds alone, first kneeling on his sword before the queen's grave, then kneeling on his sword before his old subordinate.

The kingdom recovered from their liege's death quickly and with little outcry. The majority of the throngs, the voices that clamored in the streets below and beside, cried out for a new ruler just as they had done upon hearing Ephraim's demise. This time—Latona willing, they said—the new man-king would be more efficient, more stable of mind and of body, more fit to rule a self-respecting kingdom, much as Ephraim's good father had been not years before. The townspeople debated—as if they had any say at all—on whether to keep the fleur-de-lis as the emblem of the Renaisian royalty, before eventually deciding that the last of flowers are better served with petals scattered on the winds and then forgotten anon.

I tried to forgive General Seth for his actions, tried to absolve him of his sin, tried to free my soul from the hateful chains I selfishly clung to like a drowning man to a splintered raft. Though I hated the knight general for what he had done, I knew unquestionably that he loathed himself more. It was his blade—_his own blade!_—that took the life of the lady with whom he was smitten, and I pitied him as much as I hated him, as I knew that I could have very well been thrust into the same situation but for the fey whims of Fate. What was worse, I would have done the same thing to save her. I was powerless when Seth himself told the keepers of the watch that Eirika was dead, and when I saw the blank, disbelieving faces of the soldiers I felt as though some intangible, ethereal strength were there for the taking but I was too ignorant to find it. I felt as though I were devolving into something weaker and angrier, resorting to the only shallow emotions I could muster when something dear was taken away from me. Worse, I recognized this, and I couldn't change it. I was powerless. I was weak. I was the same man I would have despised when I was young. The difference was, I was fully prepared to live my life an utter weakling, a contemptible fool, if only I could have been strong _once_—for her.

This is the end of my only, my most terrible story. Now there remains only hatred and suffering, the hatred and suffering that runs against all the kindred teachings of Latona, the hatred and suffering that proves that I failed. I failed by running antagonist to the selfless virtues of the Saint to whom I prayed, and furthermore, I failed My Lady for always serving myself more than I served her, and that was one sin for which I could never atone.


End file.
